


Best Laid Plans

by ktbl



Series: Strange and Lovely Things [1]
Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Related, Damaged Goods, Developing Relationship, During Canon, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Healthy Relationships, Kissing, Minor Canonical Character(s), One Night Stands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sparring, This Is Getting Complicated, Trust Issues, What Did You Expect, mkx, previous relationships mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22247887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: Uncomplicated is just the right thing for a workaholic career soldier and a wanderlust-plagued swordsman. It starts as one night, no complications, no strings attached, and the expectation of work continuing as usual afterwards.For these two, nothing ever goes as planned.
Relationships: Sonya Blade/Takahashi Kenshi
Series: Strange and Lovely Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624903
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	1. Best Laid Plans

It had been several months since Kenshi Takahashi had set foot on the Special Forces base, and he had been surprised not to find his quarry in the first three places he’d checked: the sparring ring, the gun range, or the armory. An office had been his last resort, and as he approached the open doorway, his enhanced hearing picked up the quiet sounds of shifting gimbals in the chair, the clicking of a computer keyboard… and the not-so-quiet sounds of swearing. The office smelled of stale coffee, printer ink, gun oil, and a faint citrus tang. His target was in, and by the speed of the tap-tap-tap of the keys, annoyed. He held a cup of coffee in his hands, hot and freshly brewed, with just a bit of milk and sugar in it. Into the lion’s den… Now would be as good a time to interrupt as any. He rapped a hand on the wood of the doorframe. 

“You should take a break, Colonel Blade.”

He heard the pause in the typing, the squeak of the chair. “Can’t, Takahashi. Too much paperwork.” Sonya’s voice was slow, but faintly irritated, exhaustion making itself known. There was a pause, a shuffle of papers. “Work is never done. I’m desk-bound til… well, hours from now.” Another pause, and he could imagine the look of realization crossing her face. “Wait. When did you get back?”

“Earlier today. If you had actually paused, you would have known.” Kenshi answered, walking into the room. His voice was less accusatory and more matter-of-fact; he could hear a soft huff, agreement more than argument. “I’m sure there’s been enough gossip passed around that you would have heard.” He moved carefully to the edge of where her desk had been the last time he was in the office, and reached down with one hand to find the edge. He heard her shuffling the papers on her desk, the click of a pen, the rough sound of the ballpoint and ink scratching on the paper. “You will become even more short-tempered and frustrated the longer you go tucked behind your desk. You’ve already missed one meal; coffee does not count. Your aide said you missed lunch entirely and didn’t touch what he left for you.”

“If I wanted to be hounded,” Sonya answered, “I would have stayed married. And we know how that ended up. So, are you here to nag me in lieu of my aide, remind me of why I’m divorced, or do you have something of substance worth interrupting for?” In response, he proffered the cup of coffee. He felt her fingers brush against his as she took it, the weight shift as she held it, and he could let it go. “Got it… That’s worth it, thanks. You remembered how I take it, I could kiss you right now. So - how was your… whatever it was?” There was the sound of drinking, a long slow sip, and then the soft touch of the cup hitting the table.

“I’ve had better, and I’ve had worse. I will tell you over dinner. Real food,” he added quickly, pointing a finger at her. “Not the MREs you filched and keep in your bottom drawer, or even something from the mess hall. Real food.”

“It’d be good to get you debriefed, discuss some future options… But I can’t do that in a restaurant. I’ll… I’ll get some delivery brought over here, we can do it in the office? Come back at… six?” Her voice was unsure for a moment, and he heard the sound of paper against itself again, a thud, shuffles. “I think I can get this all done by six. Or at least the ones that won’t get me phone calls over the weekend. You picked a hell of a time to show back up.”

“Bad, or just busy?”

“Busy, and just finished a small op, but one that required more than a little planning.” 

“So you need someone to shoulder some of the load, or spar with some of your soldiers and keep them in shape?”

There was a stifled chuckle, and the sound of shifting, the sound of footsteps on low-pile carpeting, and then a hand closing tightly on his shoulder. It was easier to smell the gun oil and citrus and indefinable Sonya scent, now that she’d moved. “Both, frankly. It’ll be good to have you back around, Kenshi, as long as you’re able - or willing - to be.”

He reached a hand forward to grasp her upper arm, squeezing firmly in return. “It’s already good to be back, Sonya.”

Her hand dropped away, sliding down his upper arm before falling away at the elbow; he let his linger for a moment, remembering the feel of her, her stance and breathing when relaxed, before letting his hand slide slowly down and off of her.

“And as to dinner… Not your office. If we have to stay on-base, we’ll go to your house,” Kenshi countered. “I would say my apartment but it’s definitely worse supplied. I am going to guess you haven’t seen your own bed it in… two days.” 

“Longer, actually,” she said, and he knew how worn out she must be if she was so easily willing to concede. “I need to go home and swap out my spare uniforms.”

“It disturbs me that you keep two days of uniforms here.”

“I usually have four days’ worth, but I’ve already gone through the kit,” she answered.

“And I am unsurprised at that… I’ll be back at six. Be ready to leave on your own accord.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll drag you out.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Sonya chuckled. “Now, get the hell out of my office before I make you do some real work, instead of these damn vacations you take.”

“I’ll take you along next time, if you’d like. I have some wonderful violence-ridden hotspots I can recommend if you’d like to fall asleep to the sound of gunfire.”

“You know the way to a soldier’s heart. Now get. You can woo me with war stories at dinner.”

“So. Where were you?” Sonya looked across her dining room table at Kenshi, taking him in from the months of absence. Not much had changed; he was in excellent shape, clean-shaven with only a hint of stubble, and had changed out of his uniform of bodysuit and articulated leather and metal plates into casual wear - jeans and a tee shirt, with a black square-collared jacket over it all. There were two notable accessories currently missing - the red blindfold, and Sento. The blindfold had been discarded in favor of sunglasses, which she knew were jammed into a jacket pocket, and Sento - well.

The sword lay on her dining table, like a third guest for dinner, hilt not far from Kenshi’s hand. She shot it a wry look, shook her head, and turned back to Kenshi as he considered how to answer. He pursed his lips, reaching for his glass.

“Asia,” he said, and then as if he could see the frown pulling at her lips, elaborated. “Northern India. I had some things to do there.”

“Red Dragon?” Sonya eyed him. Resignedly, she picked up a few fries, staring at them blankly, before putting them into her mouth. Chew, swallow, follow the routine. “Or some other side project you’re keeping close to your chest and I don’t get read into?”

“You’re the only person who knows everything I am involved in, Sonya,” Kenshi said, pulling back slightly from her. “I have no secrets from you.”

“I call bullshit on that,” she stated, poking at him with her foot under the table. “You have plenty of secrets from me.”

“Ahem.” He poked back. “Who was it that found out I had a child before I did?” 

“And who, despite check-ins, never told me he’d fallen in love and spent months with a swordswoman who could keep up with him?”

Kenshi grunted once, conceding the point. “Do you really want to know every nuance of every detail of every thing I am doing? That seems a bit overzealous. And as to what I was doing… It was the Red Dragon. Everything comes back to them, eventually.” He leaned back in the chair, and Sonya watched him still, his controlled and careful movements. “I cannot let it go too long without checking in personally on what they are doing. Knowing what they like to do, who they - and the Black Dragon - like to recruit, I thought it would be worthwhile to check in with the militant groups that operate in the disputed zone in Kashmir. Especially given unrest there. There was some interesting chatter, which I’ve dutifully filed and will surely be crossing your desk in short order if it hasn’t already.”

“It’s probably in one of the sixty emails I’ve gotten since I walked out of the office. I keep wondering if you’re going to get caught by one of those idiots we had to extract you from. If they’re going to remember the price on your head and decide it’s worthwhile.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take, if it means intelligence that takes them down,” he responded. “I am used to risks, and that’s a small one compared to others.”

“You’re going get yourself killed, and then I’m going to be without my last good person to partner with,” Sonya said, pointing a fry at him accusingly. “It’s a good thing I trust you as much as I do, or I’d worry more than I do. Jax is on the farm, as far away as he can get from everything, with Vera and Jacqui. Johnny can’t decide if he wants to make movies or fight the threats that come our way from the other realms, so he does both badly, and tries to keep Cassie busy.” She shook her head, and watched his mouth curve up in a smile. 

“I heard about that earlier. He was telling me… Something about her trying to teach herself to drive with his new car?”

“It’s a stick shift, she has no idea. He wasn’t paying attention and she nearly wrecked the transmission.”

“She’s not old enough to drive yet, is she?”

“Got it in one. She’s short a couple years, still. He wasn’t thinking.” Sonya rolled her eyes, one of her chief complaints. “But he’s learning his lesson now.”

Kenshi chuckled. “Has there been anything of interest here? Outworld incursions, or Black Dragon, Red Dragon…?” 

“Same shit, different day,” Sonya answered. “We’ve had some minor attempted incursions, but… nothing of note. The Outworld political situation is sketchy at best. They’re all too busy. Kano’s there, selling to both of them - that’s all I know.” She exhaled heavily. “Tech advancements are as expected, nothing you’re cleared for.” He gave her a wounded look, and she shrugged. “It’s the truth. You want that kind of authorization, you’ve got to stick around here longer and I’ve got to prove to my commanding officers that you’re trustworthy.”

“I notice you don’t call them your superiors.” 

“Pff,” she said, waving a hand, and they shared a brief chuckle. “The rest of it? Administrative work. As a colonel I’m off most field ops, and I’m instead trying to defeat battalions of requisitions and units made up of nonsense busywork. I’ve been thinking of requesting deployment just for a change of pace.”

“Perhaps just… get out of town for a bit. Surely you have some vacation time? Take a few days - a week, or two? - and go away.”

Sonya shook her head. “I’m always rolling them over. I never have time to take them all - a couple of weeks, a couple of times a year with Cassie, and I still end up with weeks I don’t use. She’s coming up for a couple weeks at the end of the month, when her school year is finished…” she trailed off. “I don’t need quiet, I don’t need a vacation. I need competent people in my unit. I need a solid lead on the Black Dragon. I need a good bottle of alcohol. I need to get - never mind.” She closed her mouth before the last thing escaped, pressing her lips together tightly. She leaned back in her chair, taking a drink from her beer. “I need a lot of things, none of which I’m getting.”

It startled him, but then he laughed. “Competent people and alcohol are all easily enough arranged, if you’re not too picky,” he countered. “I happen to remember you were given a fine bottle of sake by Master Hasashi - and I doubt you’ve opened it up, if you still even have it.”

“I’ve been keeping it for someone who will appreciate it. I’m a whisky woman.” 

“Then what’s keeping you? I will take the sake off your hands. That will solve one of your issues - and we did say stories and drinks, didn’t we?” Kenshi leaned forward slightly. “If you’d like, I think I can adjust my schedule and remain nearby for a time, which should alleviate your competency issue. For a few months, at least.”

Sonya scoffed quietly, and shook her head. “Oh, you’ll solve all my problems, then? You’re as bad as Cage. You both have massive egos. Competent in what - leaving me with the cleanup and paperwork? Blowing off all responsibility?”

“It isn’t ego if it’s accurate,” Kenshi pointed out, earning a smaller laugh from her. “I have a reputation, and I have earned it. And I can be responsible. I simply choose to put it towards certain things - not paper-shuffling.”

“Takahashi, the day you’re humble, I will cut my hair,” Sonya said tartly. “The only thing worse would be adding Kung Lao and Liu Kang into the mix. You ready for those drinks?” 

“We will see how fine Master Hasashi’s taste is.”

“You will. I’m going to open the bottle of BenRiach I’ve been hoarding.” She pushed back from the dining table, walking into the kitchen and reaching up into a cupboard, pulling out a bottle of whisky and a smaller ceramic bottle with Japanese writing on it. A tulip glass and then a small ceramic cup followed, and she set them out on the table. She paused, and then returned to the kitchen with the tulip glass, coming back out a few moments later with it filled with ice.

“I have no idea how you drink sake, so… What do I do to make this drinkable for you?”

“Open it and pour? This shouldn’t need to be heated, and without being able to read the flask I can’t tell you what kind it is.”

“And I don’t read Japanese.” She opened the flask, poured it into the cup, and pushed it towards where his fingers rested on the table. “Let me know if it’s passable, and if - or when - you want more, and I’ll pour.” Her hands then moved to the whisky, pouring a healthy slug into her cup. “Whisky I can serve. Rice wine, not so much.”

“A toast,” Kenshi said, lifting up his cup towards her. “To getting what we need.”

“That I can raise a glass to,” she said, before taking a sip of the liquor in her glass. “You’ve heard my list. What is it you need, then? What’s brought you back to my doorstep?”

The question seemed to catch him off-guard. “What I need? Well - to drop off some information best handled in person, and to find something a little more interesting than making idle inquiries, I suppose. A decent sparring partner.” He took a drink from the ceramic cup, a look of surprise and a bit of pleasure crossing his face, and then he took a second sip. “Not bad, this. Sweet. You might like it.”

“I’ll pass right now, thanks. God, I can smell it from here.” She put her own nose down to her glass and inhaled. “Well, sparring we can handle, and I’ll assume you handled the intel?”

“Paperwork,” he said, making a face; she laughed. “I spoke with someone since you were in meetings, it’s being all written up.”

“You’re shit at paperwork and followup.”

“I cannot read the forms,” he said almost primly.”It isn’t my fault they aren’t accessible for the blind. Give me a voice-based recording system, Colonel, and I will be much better at my paperwork.” 

She snorted, but chuckled a bit. “Excuses. But I’ll see what I can do.”

“My excuses are good ones.”

“I’ll give you that. So - intel, and a workout.” She quirked up one corner of her lips, and took a sip of her whisky. “Somehow I feel as if you would have found a way to get them both dealt with if you hadn’t wanted to come back. So what actually dragged you back here?”

“Perhaps it was that I wanted to see my friends,” he countered. “Visiting Johnny and Cassie is a draw. I know you cannot stand your ex-husband, but your daughter is a delight. And yes, I can see your expression.” He raised the ceramic cup to his lips, and took a drink. “And then coming up here for something to do, and to see you, as well. I cannot go undercover with the Red Dragon like I did those years ago, and you always have something interesting I can get involved in. You’re a draw on your own, you know.”

“And that sounds like you’ve got some sort of scheme you’re trying to convince me of,” she said. “We start with compliments, and then proposals, and then I’m on the spot and being asked to approve some ridiculous plan, like singlehandedly investigating a Black Dragon hideout in New York and finding the shipping point of a large portion of their arms trafficking, and almost getting killed in the process.”

“That was once, and I have not done it since. You also got a significant amount of intelligence out of that, if I remember correctly. And put their operations back about six months.”

“My statement stands.”

Some time later, Sonya looked at the last of the ice in her glass, and reached for the whisky bottle, then pulled her hand back as Kenshi set the empty sake cup down on the table, speaking. “Earlier - you mentioned cutting your hair. How long is it, anyway?” Kenshi let the question drop into the silence that had slowly formed as they drank. “I’ve only ever known you to keep it back – a ponytail, a braid.”

“It’s long, now. Pain in the ass. I really should just cut it off.”

“So why keep it?”

He heard her long sigh, and knew there was a shrug following. “Habit. My one vanity. It got to be too much of a pain to keep up with keeping it short so I let it grow, and then I never stopped. It’s been…” A considering noise, the sound of her fingers drumming on the wooden table. “Since it was last cut, a real cut, probably over fifteen years. Trimmed it, once in a while – at home, or when Cassie would go in to get hers done, I’d have them lop off an inch or two.”

“No wonder it’s like being hit with a rope,” Kenshi said dryly. “Dangerous – for you and for your opponents.”

“Spare me the lecture, Kenshi.”

“So, how long is it?” He asked the question again, heard her inhale, exhale, and then the soft sounds of shifting. He heard the sound of her chair push back, two-three-four steps to him, and then the suddenly closer, stronger, scent of her, citrus, and whisky.

“Easier to show than tell.” Something shifted, and suddenly he could feel the weight of her hair on his hands. He reached up, found her shoulder, and let his fingers skim down her back, through the sheet of hair that now fell down, past her waist – and then he slid his hand down still, past the small of her back, along the curve of her hips, where it finally ended in a razor-sharp line. He stood up behind her, bent his head down slightly, breathing in the citrus-whisky-Sonya smell. He raised both hands, gathered her hair at the crown of her head, and slid his hands down through the strands to the ends once more. When he was through, he rested both of his hands lightly on her hips, all of a sudden unsure where else to put them. But this was right - or at least, right, now.

“I have never known you to let your your hair down – literally. Even your wedding, it was up.”

“Regular fucking Rapunzel.” 

“Somehow,” Kenshi said wryly, “I struggle to think of you as a fairy-tale princess. You are more the knight. Or, on further consideration, possibly the dragon.” He dodged the elbow she thrust backwards towards his stomach, pivoting neatly away on one side and keeping the other hand on her hip. “Tomoe Gozen, or Tsuruhime, maybe. Female warriors,” he explained quickly. “Not princesses.”

“Barely a recovery there, Takahashi.” Sonya snorted. “I never made prom queen, let alone being a storybook princess.” He felt her stance shift slightly, parade rest softening into something more casual. “I don’t usually leave it down. Too much of it. I might as well shower and rebraid it tonight since it’s already loose.”

“No need to on my account,” he answered, a heartbeat too quickly. He was surprised by his own reaction, but it was not so improbable - alcohol loosened inhibitions and the tongue, and he was in far closer contact with Sonya than they usually were without having injuries be the excuse. “It suits you, and you should be able to be you in your home. Not the Colonel.” He slowly and deliberately drew his hands together at the small of her back, before letting them fall away, slowly. “I count myself lucky to be here for it.”

Kenshi heard her more rapid breathing, felt her faster heartbeat. He dared the lightest brush against her mind, out of politeness more than a feeling of being caught. They’d known each other over a decade and he could think of only a handful of times he had read her mind, knowing how much she valued her privacy, and most of those had been mid-combat. That faint telepathic touch told him what he needed to know: between trusting him, and the lack of inhibitions from the whisky and camaraderie… The thing she’d closed her mouth on saying was a pent-up desire to get into bed with someone, and there hadn’t been anyone she could trust - and she sure as hell wasn’t going to give her ex a call - 

“Didn’t expect this when you said you wanted a debrief out of my office, hmm?” She shook her head slightly, turning around. “You’re starting to make me suspicious. Get me liquored up, my hair down, next thing you’ll have your hands up my shirt.”

“If you’re extending invitations…” He tilted his head and one side of his mouth curved up in a smile, and tugged at the hem of her shirt lightly. He tensed his muscles, ready for another elbow to the gut. He had not been prepared for her to call his bluff and kiss him, her fingers hooking into the belt loops of his jeans and pulling him against her, pressing a firm kiss to his mouth. He cupped her head in his hands, one hand curving around to hold the back of her head, sword calluses catching on her hair. He did not expect her mouth to open beneath his so easily, her hands to run up along his shirt, splaying out wide on his chest. She broke the kiss off and stepped back then, suddenly.

“Kenshi, you don’t want to start this.”

“Are you so sure of that? Remind me who the telepath is.” 

“My filters and restraint are pretty much at zero right now. It wouldn’t be fair to you. That’s presuming a hell of a lot on our friendship, and-”

“Sonya…” He interrupted her and reached for her, let his hand brush against the back of her arm briefly. “It’s on offer. No strings attached, no commitments.” He offered a small smile. “If you say no, I will stop. I’m the one propositioning you, remember. It is not as if we haven’t known each other in worse states than this. Outside all that…” He let his hand slide down, shoulder to upper arm, and then to her forearm. “Did it ever cross your mind that I may have ulterior motives? I have never once claimed – nor been accused of - altruism.”

“You’ve got a point, or two, I’ll give you that. But I’m not in the habit of fucking my consultants. Or my friends. I just fuck them over instead.” 

“It could be a habit worth breaking. Once, at least.” He touched her shoulder again gently with an open palm. “And then I can vanish off into the night, to wander your base-”

“Terrify someone whose spouse is deployed, and panic half the dogs?” Another laugh from a mouth suddenly very close to his, and she reached up with a hand to touch his face. “That would cause even more trouble than taking you to bed.” He heard the sounds of her opening and closing her mouth wordlessly, and then he could feel a shudder of muscles, a rise and fall of her shoulders. “Oh, fuck it, why not. Kiss me, before I change my mind,” she said, and he was all too happy to oblige as she touched her lips to his. His mouth parted for her, and he tugged her firmly against him, feeling the length and heat of her body against his. 

“If we’re going to do this, I can think of better places than my dining room table,” Sonya said, breaking the kiss after a few moments. “For one, this thing is from IKEA and would probably break if you sneezed at it.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “And I’m getting old, anyway. I spent my money on a good mattress. Be a shame to waste it.”

“Then lead the way, Colonel. I’ve slept on the ground too many times to turn down a good mattress.” He slipped his hands out of her pockets and reached for one of her hands. “Just don’t walk me into a wall on the way. But there’s one thing I do need.”

“Let me guess.” Sonya held up her other hand. “Long, slim, contains the souls of your ancestors, gives you magic powers?”

“And they say military intelligence is an oxymoron.”

“They better not be the ones who just had their tongue in my mouth,” she responded. “Here.” She picked Sento up from where it had been placed on one side of the table, resting the scabbard in his open empty hand. 

“Would I be so foolish as to say that?” Kenshi raised an eyebrow.

“Not if you still want to get laid.” 

“Lead on.”

They made it inside the bedroom, and Sonya guided him around the dresser, and towards the bed. It felt strange, having someone else here. And this was, frankly, not the person she’d been expecting to have in her bed at any point in time. But here he was, though thankfully out of the complex uniform he seemed to live in. He could almost be anyone in his casual attire, except for that peculiar sword he’d carried loosely in his hands up the stairs. He held it up in one hand, questioning.

“You know, there’s been an open bet about whether or not you sleep with Sento,” she chuckled. “I don’t remember the over-under on it.”

“The answer is ’not when there are better offers’,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I… just do not like being far from it. I am more vulnerable without Sento than I would like to be.” She was surprised by the response, filing the tidbit away in the back of her head.

“Then over with my gear,” Sonya said, leading him a few more steps, “bed just on your left, and my nightstand is here – it’s where I keep my backups. We can fit it here-“ She took their joined hands, trailed it across the top of the nightstand, let it fall for a moment in space between the small table and the bedframe. He took the hand that held Sento, and set the scabbard there, upright; it fit neatly, and shifted only a little. “There. Now if anyone decides to come in unannounced, there’s a pair of my gauntlets, your sword, and a handgun. I think between us we could take half of Outworld's armies.”

“Only half? I’m wounded, Sonya.” He laughed and reached for her, catching her around the waist, and drawing her against him. He had a few inches of height on her, but not much, and she tilted her head up to him, pressing a kiss on his jaw, then his lips. He took a moment to enjoy it - it was one thing to have known her face and body from combat, holding Sento in his hands and the spirit-sword’s magics letting him see the spirits of those around him. It was something else to feel her under his fingertips without observers. From sparring matches, he knew the length of her arms and legs, the weight of her hair - and the force of her fists and feet when they connected. He knew her stance, the weight of her steps, the length of her stride, how she favored her right side over her left. But this… this was a different Sonya. She broke the kiss off, trying to take a step back, but he held her close.

“Think you’ll be able to still take orders from me, next time it comes to that?”

“I can keep my business and my pleasure separate,” he answered, “Though only the ancestors know how I’m going to keep a straight face the next time you yell ‘on me’ over comms, after this.”

“As long as you keep the snickering to yourself. Otherwise I’ll make you walk into a wall in front of all the new transfers,” she said, pulling her hand down slowly along the side of his face.

“I’d like to see you try. Bed behind me, you said?” He backed up until he felt the bed frame and mattress on the backs of both legs and then sat down, tugging her forward with him. She moved, her hands resting on his shoulders; she pushed him back slightly, then shifted her position, climbing up and straddling him.

“Back a little farther, unless you want me falling off on my ass,” she commented, and he was quick to shift back, hands holding on to that part of her anatomy.

“Can’t have that,” he murmured. She moved with him, rising up on her knees, her hands reaching towards his face, holding it gently in her hands, looking at him. His hands moved up, warm through her shirt, and hot when one worked its way up under the cotton, curving around from her back to her ribs. He spread his hands out along her sides, face turned up to hers. She simply kept her hands cupping his head for a few moments, before she leaned down, resting her face in the curve of his neck, breathing him in. 

Then the moments of careful familiarization were gone; she moved, and he moved, mouths and hands greedy, exploring what was on offer. His shirt went first, her hands sliding it up to reveal pale skin crossed with scars. He drew his hands away from her long enough to pull the shirt off, and she sat back slightly on his thighs. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

“And I’m sure you’re pristine,” he said with a snort, hands sliding their way up and under her shirt. “Colonel Never-Wears-Armor Blade?” The disbelief was evident in his voice. Bra clasps came undone, and he worked the cotton tee and bra off over her head in one smooth movement. He reached for her, sliding his hands along her sides, cupping her breasts in his hands, pressing his mouth to the side of her neck, the line of her collarbone, moving slowly down her chest. “And you’re… far less marked than I expected.”

“Ballistic fabric is a wonderful thing,” Sonya said with a smirk of satisfaction. “We won’t count the number of torn muscles and broken bones. Not as visible as yours, but I look like hell on an x-ray. Though I have my share from-“ She closed her mouth again sharply. “No. Not now. Not tonight, I’m not going there.”

“Good choice,” came his voice from near her sternum. Kenshi’s palms rested on her hips, the heat of his fingers curling and releasing against her back and side. His tongue darted out, making a hot trail across her skin and making her shudder when he blew across it, turning the hot cool. Sonya’s back arched, and she moaned, her nails slowly dragging up his back, finally giving herself over to the moment and the night.

And then her phone rang, and vibrated, and Sonya swore.


	2. Skirmishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of skirmishes, gauging the new terrain; a new mission rears its head for the SF.

“Tell me you do not have to answer that,” Kenshi said, his hands poised over her breasts, mouth inches away from her skin. 

“That’s a phone call that says my plans for the night are well and truly fucked.” Sonya lingered for a moment as her phone rang and buzzed, rattling on the nightstand. Unwilling to commit to breaking the already fractured mood, she closed her eyes, pulled up her resolve and slid off his lap and out of his hands. He reached for her, catching her hair only to feel it slip away through his fingers. “I only have a few numbers that come through like this. It isn’t Cassie because she has her own ring, and it’s not Vera for the same reason, and it sure as hell isn’t you unless you’re pocket-dialing me… so it means shit has hit the fan.” Resigned, she looked at the display, grunted once in frustration, and accepted the call. 

“Colonel Blade.” She stood there topless for several moments, just out of his reach. Her look of irritation at the interruption shifted into one of disbelief, brow furrowing, and then not-at-all concealed anger, as the caller spoke. “I can be there in twenty. I need to gear up and drop a dinner guest back at their quarters. Heads will-” There was a pause, and Sonya saw Kenshi open his mouth; she shook her head once and held up a hand to forestall him, hoped he figured it out. “I have eyes on him, actually. Contract negotiations.” Her lips twitched as she listened, an expression somewhere between amusement and a frown, remaining quiet for a few more moments. “Sir, yes. Monday morning. It will give me time to finish renegotiating this and get a new contract into personnel if there are any changes…You as well, sir.” She took the phone away from her ear, opened a drawer on the nightstand, and shoved the phone into it, the drawer rattling with the force.

“Care to share?” Kenshi broke the silence, reaching for her hands and pulling her towards him again. “That is, I think, the most I have ever heard you say sir.”

“I’m under orders to get you - and me - to a briefing Monday morning at oh-six-hundred,” she said. “While I’d ream out my aide, I’m not going to put a promotion at risk by doing that to a general, especially the one who’s most likely to put said promotion forward.” Sonya let out a sigh of irritation. “There’s something happening going on right now, which I was not read into, and they’re putting things together over the weekend with the likelihood of running a full operation. Black Dragon raid in the works, it sounds like.” She gently pushed him in the chest with a fingertip. “Your ass is expected to be there, since it’s one of your contacts that dropped this in our laps. So you can blame yourself for the interruption.”

“But you do not have to go back in tonight, do you?” Kenshi caught her hand at the wrist, laid it against the side of his face in a gesture that surprised her. She stroked his cheek and jaw with her thumb, looking at his face, the thin marks of scars, the closed eyes and the scars and marks around them. On impulse, she leaned forward and brushed her lips across the corner of one eye, how he tensed suddenly when she did, his breath halting so fast she almost missed it. 

“No,” she said, pulling away. “I left orders that I was only supposed to be interrupted in the event of something that endangered Earthrealm security directly. Which means-” 

“This is probably not something you are looking forward to.” He edged back slowly, tugging her along with him until she was settled as she had been before the phone rang, knees denting the blankets on either side of him. His hands began to slowly climb the ladder of her ribs, feeling them beneath the muscle. “And you are going to blame me for it.”

“Got it in one. I’m also under orders from my own CO to make sure you’re along on this - and that includes making any changes to your existing contract as needed to keep you on my payroll.” 

“So I should expect some concessions from these negotiations.” Kenshi turned back to her throat and began to resume his earlier explorations, his dark head a slowly moving shadow down her body, teeth grazing gently now and again, drawing out gasps.

“Oh, so sure of your bargaining position to make demands?” Her voice caught in her throat. 

He worked her belt free and let it drop onto the floor. “Yes.” He pushed her back with surprising gentleness onto the bed, and she had a moment of feeling like a target in a scope. His eyes were closed, but it didn’t change the fact that she felt like she was being analyzed in every other way, his other senses handling the reconnaissance and analysis. Eyes misled anyway.

“I think I’m getting the better end of this deal,” she said, trying to shake the thought, and the wandering hands paused in their explorations; when they pulled away, her skin was abruptly cold, prickling. 

“We have known each other long enough,” he said thickly, “that I think we will come to an agreement without too many missteps.” Their fingers met in a jumble of buttons and zippers, foiling each other and at cross-purposes with a few frustrated laughs, until she lifted her hips and slid the rest of her clothes off, his following a moment later. He lowered himself down onto an elbow at the same time as she propped herself up and leaned forward, and they bumped heads, his forehead knocking into her nose with a crunch; Sonya swore vigorously.

“Sorry,” Kenshi apologized as she fell back, a hand reaching up to touch the bridge of her nose. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she chuckled. “Not bleeding, so nothing broken. Wounded dignity and the feeling like being a teenager again. Though I can now confirm, if there was ever lingering doubt, that you’re hard-headed.” 

“Perils of taking a blind man into your bed,” he said, “Let me make it up to you.” 

And that was the last thing said for a very long time. 

When Kenshi woke, he was uncertain how much time had passed. Long enough that the other side of the bed was cold, the pillow no longer dented from where a head had rested. The smell of coffee and toast wafted into the room, trying to overlay the smell of sweat and sex, but failing. He heard the sound of Sonya’s voice downstairs, half a conversation that made little sense. For several long moments, he didn’t move, instead remembering the fall of her hair over the both of them, the feel of her atop him, the undignified groan she made when he’d made her laugh afterwards, complaining about muscle groups she’d forgotten existing. The way she’d tasted, salt and whisky and Sonya.

Sitting on the edge of said bed, he took a minute to clear his mind and focus on his memory of the layout of the room, of the house. He made his way carefully to the bathroom, finding the towel and washcloth she’d left for him beside the sink. He vaguely remembered her shower from a night he’d spent on the couch years ago, and got himself cleaned and a rough form of presentable before heading downstairs. Sonya was still on the phone, or on it again; he felt her hand graze his leg as he passed by the couch, a morning greeting. 

“Look, if that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes. It’s a mess and I’m not letting him on something until it meets spec… Mine, who else’s? I don’t care who I have to write an extra pass for or if I have to cover a holiday duty, get someone in this weekend. I want it cleaned, repaired, and combat-ready before we have to deploy… Good. I’ll drop it off later.” She paused. “Yeah, well, add it to my tab.” Another pause and the sound of the phone being put down. “Morning.”

“Do I want to know what time it is?” 

“Depends. You going to be pissed if I tell you that you slept in?”

“I did have plans for the day,” he said ruefully. “I need to restock my apartment, do some work on my armor, and I confess I am not entirely certain what the status of my contract is, after last night.”

“Oh, you’re still on payroll. I’m even rearranging my budget to get your armor repaired, so knock that off your to-do list. You left your bag open last night, and I saw the mess some of your stuff is in. I can’t take you off-base with something like that.”

“Practicing for when Cassie is older?" 

She threw him a dirty look; he didn’t need to see it to know it was there. “All the lone-wolf swordsmen are wearing badly tended armor and you should be allowed to, too?” Sonya snorted. “It doesn’t look like it’ll hold up when you hit the floor.”

“I do not,” Kenshi said indignantly, “hit the floor.” He knew she was nosy; he should have known if the bag was open she would considered it free to peruse.

“You will if we go a couple rounds.” He didn’t need to see to know the grin on her face. “You did say you need a sparring partner, didn’t you?”

“Out of everything that happened last night,” he answered, “and you remember I said I came back for someone to practice against? I should be insulted.”

“I might remember a few other things,” she allowed lazily, “but - that was last night, and this is this morning. A lot of things happened last night.” He heard the sound of her rising off the couch, her footsteps moving carefully around him. “I remember you offering to stick around and be the competent person I need to run ops with. That still an open offer, or did we cross a line after the booze came out? Something we’ve got to walk back?” He followed her towards the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. 

“It would take,” Kenshi said, “quite a bit for me to rescind that offer. Especially if it sounds like you are getting my equipment fast-tracked for repairs. I…” He paused, considered his words carefully. “I am not interested in walking back anything about last night. At all. Except possibly the damage to your nose.”

“It’s fine, seriously.” She let out a long breath, as if it answered several unasked questions. “Monday morning things are going to go downhill and I’m going to need someone I can hand some things off to. Do you think you’ll be ready to get back in the saddle with some real work?”

“Am I getting read in or are you keeping it all compartmentalized?” 

“I’ll read you in as far as I can. Unless you’re making a jump to be here more permanently, there’s only so far I can go. Security reasons. Hell, there’s some of this I don’t even know yet.” She shrugged. “So - coffee, tea, or am I taking you out for a real breakfast?”

“I’ll take the tea, for now. Then I really should make my apartment habitable.” She made a soft noise of agreement, and he heard the click of an electric kettle, the rustling in cupboards and the clink of a mug, and then a stifled chuckle. “Do I want to know what’s on the mug?”

“Probably not.” Silence reigned for a few minutes, not the kind of awkward heavy silence either had expected, but the more familiar one they had - nothing to say, nothing that needed to be said, and no need to break it. The kettle clicked off a few moments later, and he heard her drop the tea bag in, pour water atop it. “It should be potable… Should. It’s been in the cupboard for a while. You want me to chauffeur you today, or someone out of motor pool?” She passed the mug over to him, waiting until she saw his hand close over the handle, felt him lift up on it, before letting go.

“How much work do you have?”

“Motor pool,” Sonya said after a moment and a heavy sigh. “I’ll do the shopping with you - your guess about my refrigerator wasn’t unfounded, wipe the damn smirk off your face - but then I do have things I should do, and sitting on my couch listening to me do laundry is probably not the way you want to spend your day.”

Kenshi lifted the mug to his nose, wrinkling it, and then put it down.

“I am buying you new tea.”

Monday morning was far too early to be descending into the bowels of the military-industrial complex, as far as Kenshi was concerned. The conference room reeked of the military, he thought: cleaning supplies, bad coffee, and a lingering undertone of sweat and arrogance. Stacks of hard files were already on the table when they arrived, and he heard the electrical hum of computers, monitors, and an air-conditioning and filtration system trying its hardest and failing to keep up with demand. He took a position standing with his back to the wall, attempting to be unobtrusive, and knowing he was wildly unsuccessful. He’d taken the time to put on Sento’s baldric, and adjust the straps to hang over his normal clothes rather than his armor.

“I’m not sure what that says about your opinion of base safety,” Sonya had said that morning in the base’s reception area, watching him adjust the straps and buckles.

“If memory serves, you have scientists actively working on portal technology to mimic Outworld’s portal stones,” he’d responded, “and that disturbs me. I would rather be ready if something uninvited decides to attend your briefing.” He paused, adding as an aside, “Or if you get out of hand.” Sonya snorted once, refraining from comment. She placed her hand on a biometric scanner and waited for a green light to acknowledge her before the pair of them moved through towards a deeper and more secure part of the Special Forces offices and core buildings.

Some of the soldiers were the duty staff on the tail end of what had been a thirty-hour day, their speech and steps slow and considered. Some were fresh on duty, nauseatingly cheerful or at least neutrally professional. And some, the ones Kenshi suspected had seen their share of active duty and long nights, simply were. Sonya’s day had started middling and was going downhill at full speed; whatever conversation she and her aide were engaged in, her voice was getting quieter - never a good sign - and the man was visibly steeling himself.

“You tell me when this happens. You don’t let it sit as a memo on my desk, you don’t let it come out as an aside in a briefing, you tell me. Immediately.”

“Your orders were clear, ma’am.”

“You don’t tell me I have half a squad smeared into paste on the side of wall via a goddamned memo.” Sonya’s voice rose on the last half, her teeth gritted. “Never acceptable.”

“Ma’am, I’m not going to apologize for following orders. You said you were, and I quote, only to be contacted in the event of a confirmed and immediate threat to Earthrealm and everything else could wait until your regular Monday briefing, end quote. As soon as that hit my desk, I put it on yours, but your verbal orders were what I operated off of. Ma’am.”

“Let me put it this way. Those are my people. Much like you are one of my people, though right now I’m not sure how you got this promotion and position with the idiocy you’re displaying right now.”

“Because, ma’am, with all due respect - you’ve run through everyone else who wants the job. Ma’am.” 

Death wish… Kenshi was certain the man had to have one. But she needed someone who would push back; she was too used to the chain of command and being told ‘yes’. He heard as she settled into a chair, opening up the file folder in front of her. The swordsman settled himself in the space to her left, uncaring if he threw off some hierarchy or established seating order. His fingers played through the contents of the file, the glossy photos and pages of text meaningless. Without trying, he could feel the stress and anger roiling off of her.

“It’s probably going to be visual heavy,” Sonya apologized, turning to speak quietly to him. “Not sure how you want to handle this.”

“I’ll listen, and ask questions if I need to.” 

“I’ll get you the audio files of what’s transcribed. Nothing here’s redacted. Or, at least, not much.” She flipped through the pages. “I can’t do much about the visuals, though. Easier for you once we’re on the ground, anyway.”

“So sure?”

“Yeah.” She uncapped a bottle of water set on the table, took a long drink. “If I have my way, deployment will be… soon.”

“And you always get your way.” He snorted, voice tinged with skepticism.

“I do. I really do.”

The briefing was long, more for matters of logistics than anything else. It was a straightforward main target and mission: Black Dragon in Afghanistan, with suspicions of a portal to Outworld involved. A man with hookswords; that caught Kenshi’s attention, and Sonya could tell by his focus that he was sifting through at least one person’s mind, possibly more. One of Kenshi’s informants had dropped the tidbit about a new arms dealer in the area, one who had stirred up quite the mess when he was revealed to be a she. One of the local conservative religious militias had taken great affront to this and attempted to kill her (and take the weapons). This had gone poorly, and when the dust settled, the woman had held a long conversation with a man with a pair of peculiar swords (and there was only a description of a man with the swords; Sonya and Kenshi both swore, unable to identify if it was Kabal - and thus Netherrealm - or Mavado, and thus the Red Dragons). 

What people did know for certain is that this new figure now represented Black Dragon influence and interests in the area, and there was a regular flow of weaponry that needed to be stemmed, if not halted.

The minute he heard that, Kenshi dropped a hand beneath the table and onto Sonya’s thigh, as if that would restrain her mouth. “Wait,” he murmured. “You’re not-“

“How fast can we get there?” She brushed his hand off her thigh brusquely, raising her voice to interrupt the officer. “If they’re portalling things to Outworld, we need to interrupt that as fast as possible. I should have been brought in Friday. We should have been planning-“

“It was on my directive, Colonel Blade,” someone else said, and Sonya’s lips tightened; she sucked in a breath against whatever else she was going to say.

“Sir.” Grudging.

“Because otherwise you’d have jumped into this without adequate reconnaissance and gone AWOL to be there immediately and the next thing we know, we’d have had a war with Outworld and I’d be down one of my best staff officers.” There was a pause. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“There wouldn’t have been a war with Outworld, sir. If we’re fast enough, they won’t even know.”

A snort from across the table, and the sounds of shaking heads and stifled laughter. 

“The portal - and whatever they’re using to generate it - is one of our primary targets,” one of the other officers acknowledged. “AFO is in progress and we have identified a few opportunities for direct access. There’s the likelihood for unanticipated targets as well - your own list being front and center, Colonel - and we want to finish getting the operational logistics in place to deploy as soon as possible.”

“No matter how many years of this I do,” Kenshi murmured in her ear, “I remain astonished at the number of people it takes to make a series of simple decisions.”

“It’s not so simple when it’s more than yourself, ” she answered equally quietly. “But this isn’t just me… it’s my people. Plus, you play nice with others and you get to share their toys. That’s why you’re here, right? You just want our intel and toys. But my people… I need to make sure I’m doing right for them, make sure they’ve got the biggest chance possible to get home safe.” She took another drink of water, looking at the dregs left in the bottle. “That’s my responsibility and I’m doing it with everything I have access to.” 

“You are committed.”

“That’s the nice way of saying it.” She snorted. “I think the rest of this is going to be logistics. You’ve got your driver if you need them, you go do whatever needs doing, and we’ll touch base again when it calms down. I’d give it another four, five hours at least.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Sonya.” He put a hand on her shoulder as he rose up, running his fingertips along the back of her jacket, and left the conference room. She felt his touch through the jacket, even after he left, and tried to turn her attention back to numbers, targets, exfiltration plans. The weight of his hand, and the streak across her jacket, burned for hours.

It took nearly four days for him to find her again. Two days had been consumed by her usual workload with the addition of planning this Black Dragon raid, and he could hear her voice in conference calls every time he walked down the hall where her office was. He elected to avoid abusing his status as an interrupt-everything-for-a-call person to reach her after she had - allegedly - left for home. He was confident she was sleeping in her office instead, but never pursued the suspicion. Instead, Kenshi busied himself with the soldiers in the research and development unit and the pair of equipment specialists who had taken on repairing and updating his gear. They were - thankfully - constantly after feedback, making sure the fit was right, the texture didn’t irritate his skin, that the metal and leather pads and cups and plates attached comfortably, buckles were easy and clips, well, clipped. Repairs had been done on his existing bodysuit, but they had plans for something new and updated, using the best gear they could eke out of Colonel Blade’s budget. 

“Blood from a stone,” one complained to Kenshi, “unless it’s a pet project. Gauntlets, portal tech, Black Dragon, now this.”

Kenshi knew if he waited until the right time, it wouldn’t take much get Sonya into the training rooms in the depths of the SF base; she seethed with annoyance, and fighting had always been the best way to relieve her stress. She left a message for him, the deployment planned for Sunday morning as it would entail a significant plane flight. The tone of her voice had been the controlled neutrality that confirmed she was wound up again, the anticipation of getting on the ground and pounding Black Dragon into walls warring with something he’d still yet to figure out.

That meant he waited until the late afternoon, when paperwork and bureaucracy would have pushed every last button and questions had stepped on every last nerve, before knocking on her door frame. 

“Decided to blow out of here already? At less than a week that’s a new record, even for you.”

“Hardly. I needed to make sure you hadn’t left early, without letting me know.”

“No, we’re still on for Sunday morning.”

“And what are you working on now?”

“You don’t want to know,” she answered after a moment. 

“Best two out of three, loser buys dinner?” 

“Armed or unarmed?”

“Unarmed.” Hand-to-hand combat was her forte, and since Kenshi was arguably weaker without Sento than with, the claim that followed, of needing to practice as if separated from the blade, was easy off his lips. He could tell how distracted she was that she didn’t question it. 

“Why Mr. Takahashi, I thought you’d never ask.”

Now, out of her work uniform and in practice gear, she was throwing punches and kicks at him as quickly as she could. She passed close enough to him that he could hear her heavy breathing as she ducked underneath his extended arms, close enough he could feel the end of her braid whip against his unguarded side. In lieu of armor he wore a long-sleeved shirt and close-fitting jacket, along with a pair of black uniform trousers that made him look half-SF; it was disconcerting for all involved. Sonya dodged the punch he threw at her back and slid down, hopping back up and lashing out with a foot behind him. He sensed the movement, and caught her with one hand around her ankle, flinging her back forcefully, enough to send her off balance and onto the ground. He could hear as the breath left her when she hit the floor in a less-than-graceful crouch, and took two rapid steps towards her. He did not expect her boot to come so fast for his gut, crunching into it and knocking him back, but he stayed upright.

“All legs,” he exhaled heavily as he straightened up. “You need some variety.”

“Why bother? If you’ve got ‘em, flaunt ‘em.” Sonya moved, a run or a series of rapid steps, he couldn’t quite tell and it didn’t really matter, and leapt up into the air. She planted another foot in his stomach and somehow pivoted off it, grinding her boot in, and a kick aiming for his head again - a kick that never connected, as he flung her outwards with telekinetic energy, leaving her to connect with nothing, and just hang in the air, arching her back as if she could get out of it that way. In the moment it took him to drop her and change his focus, she bounded forward in a cartwheel, but he ducked beneath her in turn and hit her with a punch on her side that made her lose her even step and recovery. She dropped down, raising her arms up against a kick and deflected it, before making a short run and leap that sent her up, and over, him, dropping down on the other side.

Kenshi let out a grunt of satisfaction and threw three kicks, low-middle-high, connecting on the first and second, making her stagger back; she threw them right back at him, earning another satisfied sound as he ducked out of their way - but not out of the way of a mirrored set with her other leg. He lost his balance and dropped to one knee, arms up and braced for an incoming blow, before popping back up to his feet and grabbing her arm as she charged, changing her momentum and grappling her for a moment. He followed it with a flurry of blows which she blocked in swift succession before she suddenly knelt on the floor, leg lashing out in a sweep that knocked him down, flat onto his back.

“Gonna tap out?” She offered the word between heavy, but controlled, breaths.

“You know I can’t.”

“You can, you just don’t want to.”

“I have a reputation to maintain,” he answered. She dropped down, knee resting lightly on his chest. He felt an escaped tendril of her hair brush against his cheek as she looked down at his face.

“You gonna try and throw me?”

“You’d get a knee in my jaw before I could,” he pointed out, “or your hands around my throat.” She snorted, moving off him. He rose up onto his feet, letting his focus expand from Sonya to the room at large, hearing the conversation of the soldiers - as well as the sound of pieces of paper changing hands. 

“Better my hands than my garrote, at least? Let’s save your reputation before I knock you into the ground again, and call it quits for the day.”

“I took the first, you take this one…” Kenshi said, walking towards her, hands open and loose at his sides. “Do you really want to leave it sitting, undecided?” 

“I know who’ll come out on top,” Sonya answered, “but we can go another round if it’ll make you feel better. Figured I’d save the blind man some dignity.” She dodged his slowly-thrown, almost lazy, punch, still breathing heavily.

“You just don’t want your soldiers to see me drop you again.” He stepped back away from her equally slow kick at his knee, rolling his head around on his neck, touching his stomach where she’d ground her boot in. “Do I smell blood?” As his heartbeat slowed and settled, it was easier to focus on the others in the room, on other things. Kenshi called some of the blue energy to his fingertips as he collected his sword from where it sat without using his hands, sliding it back on over his clothes. A little showmanship never hurt.

“You got me good in the face, I didn’t move fast enough. Split lip. Now - are you taking me out, or are you planning on delivery?” Sonya asked as they walked out of the training room. 

“You refused the third match, so you have forfeited. That means you are picking up the tab this evening, Colonel.” He turned his head to her. “How about Thai from the place just off-base?”

“Oh, you have an off-base request, so I get stuck driving for it. I see how this works. How about your place, no later than… seven? Since that way you’re not waiting around for me if I run late.”

Sonya showed up on his doorstep with dinner, pleased with herself it wasn’t much past seven. He’d shown her into the minimalist apartment. The place looked much the same as it always had - almost vacant, but everything carefully placed. No art on the walls, just plenty of clear, open space. The couch, dining table and four chairs seemed to be generic; no sense in spending much money on things he didn’t see, or spend much time with. 

“So, if you think you won that round,” Sonya said, setting the containers of takeaway on his table, “then we’re clearly going to have to start another series. Or best of five.”

“You’ve never taken losing well.”

“I didn’t lose,” she said indignantly, earning a laugh from him. “Forfeit my ass. Just got to salve your wounded pride til this Black Dragon thing is done.”

He snorted, finding a container and taking the lid off, setting it carefully down before he became overwhelmed by the smell of lemongrass and chili and onion. “Salve my pride?”

“Make an attempt at it, anyway.” She opened another contained, the smell of coconut and lime curling into the air, and then a third, a burst of fruit-scent. “It’s been awhile since we did that, hasn’t it? No holds barred, not really holding back? I forgot how hard you kick.”

“Sorry about that split lip,” he apologized.

“Bull, or you wouldn’t have picked spicy food for dinner,” she countered, pushing lightly on his shoulder with a hand. “I’ll be fine. You’ve impressed all the new folks who haven’t met you, I reinforced my status by landing you on your ass, so we’re even.” 

“I notice you’re not apologizing.”

“For what?” Her voice was genuinely curious.

“This.” He rolled up his shirt partway, revealing a lurid purple and red bruise on his abdomen, a partial bootprint swelling brightly against the surrounding pale skin.

“Shit, Kenshi!” Her hands slapped down on the table as she leaned forward. “I didn’t-“ Her fingers reached out of their own accord and brushed feather-light across the mark. She felt his chest catch mid-breath under her touch, and quickly pulled her hand back. “I didn’t realize I hurt you that badly. I didn’t think, I was just in the moment, had an opening. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. It will be under armor, and a reminder that the next time we do that, I am going to insist you fight barefoot.” He tugged his shirt back down, hoping she hadn’t noticed his response to her hand. “Or not spar with you unless I have my armor on.” He heard the way her heartbeat had ticked up when he’d bared the bruise. “Stop worrying. I have had worse.”

“I’m not worrying,” she lied to both of them. “I don’t like finding out I’ve got damaged goods a couple of days before we have some real work to do. You sure I didn’t fracture anything, with a bruise like that coming up?” He heard the rustling of her clothes as she sat back down.

“No fractures, no breaks. Just a reminder not to underestimate you,” he answered, reaching for one of the containers, lifting it up. He sniffed once, delicately, and set it down, serving out some of the green mango salad, scent spicy-sweet. “How is your lip?”

“Can’t smile or I bleed.”

“Well, that will not be a problem for you then, will it? ”

She kicked him pointedly under the table, and he caught the coppery tang of fresh blood in the air.


	3. Hic Sunt Dracones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission to the Black Dragon in Afghanistan kicks in; a pair of new faces, and some consequences for overconfidence.

Normally, Sonya was a coldly calculating woman the day before an operation was initiated - moreso if she wasn’t going to be on the ground. When she was going to be going out herself, there was a little more hot-blooded interest, more of a desire to get up and go, nail the target. Right now, something was niggling in the back of her head - the unusual feeling that she could actually, maybe, relax and enjoy this one since she’d have backup. Good backup that could - and would - literally read her mind to make sure things happened the way she wanted. It didn’t get much more reassuring than that.

Now, she just needed to make sure that backup was still coming along and hadn’t decided he was bored - or that he’d rather be in the city with her ex and her daughter. It wouldn’t have been the first time his priorities had changed, but usually it was in favor of harder Red Dragon intel. Not beaches and umbrella drinks. 

Resigned, Sonya looked at her computer monitors, and the stack of papers on her desk, punching a number in on her desk phone. “Takahashi, I need you in my office,” she said as soon as she heard the sound of someone picking up. “We’re moving out soon. If you’re coming along, we need to talk.”

“There in ten, Colonel,” his voice crackled back; “At the armory.”

“Get your toys from them now. Save yourself a trip later. Get mine for me while you’re at it.”

Fifteen minutes later, she looked up at the sound of knuckles rapping sharply on the doorframe. Kenshi stood in the doorway, waiting for leave to enter. She took a moment to just look at him, her eyes resting on the planes of his face, the angular nose and strong jaw, and the rest of him now tucked under his armor and hidden away. Face and neck and fingers, and everything else under lock and key. She remembered the body under it, the long lines and swordsman’s muscles, biceps and triceps and then redirected her attention back to the armor, unwilling to go back down the path her mind was heading. That way, she told herself firmly, only had distraction, so she steered herself to the armor, the armor, the armor. New pads and plates, others fixed, the tears in the textured and padded fabric stitched or patched back up. It wasn’t brand-new, but she wouldn’t get him into combat uniform, so she’d take what she could get. And it looked good on him. Weird, but good, which was pretty much Takahashi Kenshi in a nutshell.

“Did I come all the way up here so you could stare at me, or was there another reason?”

“Making sure nobody’s skimping and pocketing my money and not getting your equipment up to my standards. Looks solid from here - does it feel all right?”

“It will take a little getting used to, but will serve for now. Some of it is a little heavy, but I would rather that, than it be too light. You said we’re moving out?” 

“Come in, and shut the door behind you.” He nudged it closed, and then walked over to her desk, putting a pair of her gauntlets, newer and the emitters more sleekly set in, on her desk. She stood up, and circled him once, looking over him with narrowed eyes, then touched a visibly mended tear in the bodysuit. “Here’s your eight-hour notice. We’ve got the advanced force out, reconnaissance is done, target list is ready. I just need boots on the ground. You said you wanted in, before - this is the last chance to change your mind. In or out?”

“Short notice.”

“Best I could give you. Something changed out there, and we’re on a more aggressive timeline now. So the choice is yours, if you’re coming along or you’re going to stay here, or you want to pick up a different mission. I’ve got a few things I could throw your way if you don’t want to do this.” Her index finger ran along a piece of bright metal, a replaced plate on the back of his armor. 

“Best you could give anyone? Or just me?” He raised an eyebrow, catching on her word choice. Sonya shrugged apologetically and touched him on the shoulder.

“You’re getting more notice than some of my troops are, so don’t start with a line about your offended dignity right now.” Kenshi’s brow furrowed and he looked like he was ready to push back against whatever she said. “I need to know. If you’re coming, I need to do a couple of things. If you’re not, then I’ve got to get back to the last pieces of this.”

“I’ll come,” he said after a few moments. “If there’s a chance the Red Dragon is there, or it is Kabal and the Netherrealm… I cannot miss it. Not even the slimmest of chances. How are we getting out? Flights through where?”

“That’s… a little more complicated.” Sonya’s hands clenched into fists and then flattened out and hung loosely at her side. “I’ve got to get your authorizations updated. We’ll be going through some secure areas and I’d rather do it without having to knock you out. I can’t exactly use having you blindfolded as a threat, can I?” She forced a chuckle.

Kenshi’s slight frown deepened, pulling at his lips. She watched his shoulders slide back and his spine straighten, his head draw back and up, chin raise, just a little. She knew that look; she’d seen it dozens of times, over the years. Any time someone said something he disagreed with, his prickly sense of honor getting in the way.

“Really.” 

“There’s… something I may have left out. Briefing’s in six hours, then we’re going to gear up and load out and you’ll get all the details there. I’d go home and get some shut eye if I were you.” She dropped back into her chair, began shuffling papers around.

“And when will you be sleeping?” He raised an eyebrow.

“When I’m dead.” 

Kenshi walked up behind her, working his fingers into the muscles of her neck, dragging them slowly down the visibly taut muscles. “You will do no good to your soldiers - or yourself - if you’re exhausted. Go home and sleep.”

“Can’t, in case there’s an emergency. I need to be here. That’s what the couch is for.” She jerked a thumb in the direction of the large leather sofa, which indeed had a small pillow and a thin wool blanket shoved up next to one arm. Kenshi placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to work out some of the knots he could feel underneath the jacket. Sonya let him for a minute, eyes drifting shut, before trying to shrug him off. “Stop, Kenshi. I won’t be good for anything if you make me boneless at my desk.” She tried to bat his hands off, but it was half-hearted at best. 

“You exist entirely because of muscle tension? Why am I not surprised?” He pressed in with his thumbs at the base of her neck, and she sucked in a breath. She made a wordless noise of satisfaction under his ministrations, closing her eyes and relaxing for a few moments, before moving her head sideways, away from his hands, tried to roll her shoulders and shrug off his touch. 

“Seriously, though. Hands off, Takahashi. I won’t be able to finish the necessary paperwork to catch even a little rest if you keep that up.” His hands dropped away slowly as he took a step back, chin lifting slightly again. 

“Loud and clear.” 

She spun quickly in the chair, and caught one of his hands in hers. 

“Hey, Kenshi - I didn’t mean it like that.” She exhaled, blew a loose strand of hair hair out of her face. “Well, I did,” and she saw his face tighten. “Damn it, I’m not good at this. I’ve never been good at this.” She held onto his hand, turning it slowly palm-up, looking at the leather-covered palm, the bare fingertips, the calluses and the scars, then let it go. “I like. I like it a lot more than I should for having my head in the game, okay?” 

“I understand.” 

“How about…” Sonya started, stopped, started again. “I’d like… When the mission is done, how about we pick it back up? Should have a few days before Cassie gets here.”

“During what time? I have seen you after a mission. There will be no free time.”

“I’ll make the time.”

“Sounds good.” She watched as the corners of his mouth barely rose. “Your place or mine?”

“We’ll play it by ear.”

“Sounds good,” he repeated, and bent forward swiftly, planting his hands on the edge of her desk to either side of her chair, trapping her there. It was fast enough to catch her by surprise, to set her heart racing, and he heard it - and took advantage of the moment by kissing her, realizing her shock by the closed lips that met his, and the pair of thudding heartbeats it took for her to open her mouth beneath his. He focused on her, feeling a selfish satisfaction in the way she reached forward for him, trying to pull him against her. A sound in a throat, his or hers, he didn’t know, didn’t care. He inhaled once, long and slow, taking in the scent of her, and tightened his fingers on the edge of the desk.

And then she pulled herself away and back, chair connecting hard with the edge of the desk, breathing gone ragged, mouth snapping shut.

“Keep this up and-“ Sonya closed her mouth on whatever else she was going to say, feeling the start of an old, familiar ache, the traitorous pounding of her heart. “Out. Out of here, now, before I do something I will regret. Or not regret as much as I should.”

He walked silently to the door, and turned. “I kept my hands off,” he pointed out, ducking the wadded-up piece of paper she threw at him, and the cocky smile playing over half his mouth was the last thing she saw as he left, closing the door again behind him. She took several deep breaths, trying not to focus on the throbbing of her swollen lip, the tiny drop of blood she licked off it, and the smell of him that seemed to linger in the air around her. She picked up her desk phone and punched in a number forcefully.

“This is Colonel Blade. I need to request access…”

The briefing took less than an hour, Sonya managing most of it with the occasional piece lead by one of the other soldiers handling a particular aspect. “About ten days ago, soldiers on a patrol heard word about a big arms deal going down with a local insurgent group. When they did recon to investigate, they found the man doing the arms deal in a hell of a conflict with the insurgents. Turns out he was a she and the local warlord and his goons didn’t take too kindly to the idea of a woman in a man’s world. When the fire died down - literally - sounds like someone with hookswords showed up. The woman seems to be taking control of the arms trade in the area, on behalf of the Black Dragon. Whether it’s Red Dragon and she rejected them, or Kabal and the Netherrealm making a move, we don’t know.

“Intel has shown what we believe to be the location of their base. What complicates matters is we have confirmed at least one portal incident between realms, and potentially more. We have no idea if there will be revenants, Black Dragon, Outworlders, or some combination thereof.” She continued speaking, running through the rest of the mission, designating roles and responsibilities, dropping into a land of acronyms and military jargon Kenshi had mostly forgotten. None of it was relevant to him; he was with Sonya, and on the hunt for signs of Mavado or Kabal. As he considered what he’d do to anyone from the Red Dragon - the information he wanted, he needed, from them - he caught a word, began paying attention again. 

“Portal through,” Sonya was saying, “before we catch a helo to the caves.”

Wait - portal?

Sonya had elided the truth more than a little. Kenshi found her deceit unsettling - particularly in light of the newfound intimacy they had, and the moment he’d stolen in her office (not, he thought, that she seemed to mind the theft). He knew the Special Forces had been working on portals to cross between Earthrealm and Outworld, or other realms - but Sonya hadn’t deigned to confide in him that they already had managed to create static single-realm portals. Or there were already a handful of them, linking SF bases around the world, locked down under multiple levels of security that nearly required DNA-level confirmation to access. One of those included a very secure room at an undisclosed (to him, at any rate) base in Afghanistan, from which Sonya’s squad, including Kenshi, poured out. It was unnerving, and he intended to discuss with her what other secrets she’d been holding back from him. 

With the time in the troop transport, Kenshi remembered every detail of why he hated air travel, and found his mind circling back to the fact that she’d deliberately avoided mentioning the portals. Despite having headphones on for almost the entirety of the flight, he’d found nothing to mute the vibration, the engine sounds that would not go away no matter how he focused his mind, or what he listened to. He’d tried to sleep at one point, and knew he’d managed some amount, but was not entirely sure how much; everything kept coming back to the way she had avoided airing it with him. 

He felt a pressure on his arm, and there was only one person here who would dare - Sonya. He focused on that, pulling off his headphones and slid the radio earpiece back in.

“Drop in ten minutes,” came her voice, and it seemed as if the temperature in the transport dropped, the tension palpable. “You got any last questions, now’s the time. Any last regrets, you’re shit out of luck.”

Kenshi leaned back in the jump seat, hands spread out on the thigh plates of his armor. He felt Sonya sit down beside him again, touch him on the fingertips, and then her breath hot by his ear. “You ready for this?”

“Have I ever not been?”

“You going to lose it if you see Mavado?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to keep your cool if you see Kano?” 

“Point,” she said, “Probably not. You know me. And… speaking of which.” She leaned over into his ear again. “I’d say I’m sorry about this, but I’m not. You offered.” She did something, turning her radio on again. “One change. If I’m out of it,” Sonya’s voice crackled into his ear on the radio, as she took a step back “Takahashi’s HMFIC. We clear?” A round of acknowledgements, before Kenshi could interrupt.

“HMFIC?” His own voice. One of the men on his other side laughed.

“Head Motherfucker In Charge,” they quipped over the comm.

He turned to her, jaw tightening and lips pressing together in a thin line. “Sonya, I don’t-“

“You do now.” The authoritative response gave him little room to argue. She pulled her throat microphone away from her neck and then did the same to his, lips close to his ear once more. “You said I could trust you, you said you would be a competent person for me, and I need to go in without second-guessing myself. I can’t afford to be distracted and wonder who’s going to handle this if I can’t walk out, and you’ve got the most experience with Outworld and the Netherrealm after me. You say you’re good - so here’s your challenge, Takahashi. Since you never lose - get my people out if I can’t.”

“Throwing my own words against me,” he said tightly, pushing down the anger that had startled to emerge after the surprise had gone down. “You sound like you plan to die, Sonya. And you could have warned me.”

“No, I couldn’t have, or you would have done this - exactly this. I’m not planning on dying - too damn busy. We’ve got plans after this, anyway, don’t we? I’m just not afraid to, if that’s what it takes. Whatever I’ve got to do to make sure the Black Dragon goes down. And I know you’ll do your best to make sure you don’t have to.” She put the throat mikes back on. He opened his mouth to argue the point, and then closed it. Not now - not in front of her soldiers, or he never would hear the end of it when they made it out. When, he said forcibly to himself, regardless of how she was speaking. When.

The mission went well, and that should have been a warning to her. The drop went off without a hitch, and the small fireteam handling overwatch moved into position with little fuss, ensuring that there was a clear line of sight in case anyone extra decided to come play - or an Outworld portal appeared in the little valley. It probably would have been a pretty place, any other time of year, any other circumstance, but Sonya could only think of it as another piece of frustrating terrain to cross, another chunk of ground to get her to her target. The squads moved into the caves, finding crates and boxes of suspected weaponry and ammunition, half a dozen sleeping Black Dragon thugs who were all too quickly knocked out, cuffed, and set under watch. A cakewalk. Textbook.

As the soldiers moved in, Sonya felt something itching on the back of her neck, the sort of prickle that made her feel watched. She realized later that it was that moment that they should have pulled out, taken their success while they had it. Gotten reinforcements to deal with the prisoners and the tech, waited to go in deeper. Except that wasn’t how the Special Forces worked - and it especially was not how Colonel Sonya Blade operated. When it came to the Black Dragon, she was greedy, and the years hadn’t made her think any clearer. Even the cool head under fire that she cultivated was all-bets-off when it came to the Black Dragon.

She motioned the soldiers onward, Kenshi on her left and two sword lengths behind, another squad commander staggered further behind him, following fat ropes of power cables deeper. They cleared two passages and made their way into a larger room that had, to Sonya’s quick glance, a more finished feeling to it than the other chambers; there were lights, here, and the faint electrical buzz that said this was more than temporary. Computers, and tables, and boxes -

And two people. One was a shaggy blonde man who looked like he should have been walking around Los Angeles or New York City, black sweatpants and a hooded jacket. The other was a woman, dark red hair done up in a pair of high pigtails, perched on the edge of a table. And they looked like they were - waiting. Unsurprised.

“You’re not from around here,” the woman said, swinging her feet indolently. “And I don’t think you look like the type to be looking to join up.” Her eyes flicked from the masked soldiers, to Sonya and Kenshi. “Well, one of these things is not like the others, at least. You ever think of going for something a little less… hierarchical?”

“Not today, I’m afraid.” Kenshi’s voice was easy. 

“Oh well. Looks like we can’t have everything. I’d ask how the Black Dragon can help today, but you don’t seem the types to want to help destabilize dictatorships or tyrannical regimes, and your weaponry is almost as good as what I’m selling. Almost.” The woman swung herself off the table, landing lightly on her feet. “So if you’re not shopping, it looks like you’re here for a fight, and that’s something we’re more than happy to provide.” She pointed at Kenshi, and then laughed at herself. “Come on, blind man. I’ve never done it with anyone like you before.”

“And when I’m done, you never will again,” he answered, drawing Sento from the scabbard and running his leather-covered palm along its blade, positioning himself in front of the redhead. 

“It’ll be a good story to tell Kano when I see him next,” the woman replied, pulling out her knives. “He likes good stories.” Kenshi paused for a heartbeat, and it was long enough for Sonya to shoulder her way forward.

“You know Kano?”

“Know him?” The redhead smiled. “I do. He’s a friend. He gave me this.” She held up one knife, a small thing, toothy with its serrated edges; a knife Sonya knew all too well.

“Out of the way, Kenshi. This one’s mine.” Sonya’s voice was throaty but her breathing and heartbeat picking up in anticipation. 

“I’m afraid not, Colonel. I’ve already accepted the challenge.”

“Too bad. Go find another toy. She’s mine… it’s been awhile since I sent Kano a personal message.”

Kenshi gritted his teeth, turning his head towards Sonya. “I don’t like the way this feels. I can handle her.”

“So can I.” Sonya dropped into her own fighting stance, looking at the woman in front of them. 

“You must be Sonya,” the woman said. “Blonde, military, a vicious bitch… I’ve heard so much about you. He wanted me to give you something, if I got to see you, since he’s… away.” She smiled. “I didn’t know if I would ever get to meet you. It’s nice to find out that I will.”

“Fuck you,” Sonya spat, “and fuck him. Why are you doing this?”

“Because we don’t need your rules, your laws, your demands for order.” She twirled the knives in her hand, and Sonya swallowed - they certainly were Kano’s knives, or at least they looked very close to them. Close enough it made her stomach knot. “Only by rejecting that kind of established authority and developing our own power - the power we can earn, by ourselves, individually - can we have the anarchy, the freedom of choice, that we need.” 

“Need? That’s bullshit. This whole idea is bullshit, you knife-wielding sycophant.” 

“It’s Kira,” the woman said, shaking her head and her two dark red pigtails bouncing as she did. “You’ll come to see it my way, eventually.”

“Like hell I will.”

“I’m able to think beyond the blind obedience and restrictions a soldier has.” Kira twirled the knives again, steel bright in the lights of the cave. “We have plans for the Black Dragon. It’s a shame you won’t be around to see it.”

“You wouldn’t last a day in the service, Kira. You have no discipline. Let me give you a taste.”

The two women circled each other, and then let loose. Kenshi stood with Sento clenched in his hand as he heard Kira and Sonya go full-speed, their fists and feet a steady staccato rhythm of thumps and grunts. The Black Dragon seemed to be as inclined to legwork as Sonya; it seemed the kind of fight that could take forever if something didn’t change. Sonya would kick, Kira would block; Kira would lunge forward with her daggers, Sonya would catch them on the metal gauntlets and fling her back. Sonya kicked and connected, one of the boot-in-the-gut twists that Kenshi remembered all too vividly, and Kira flung a punch that Sonya didn’t see, one that made the blonde stagger back and wipe blood away from her mouth. 

He kept his attention on them, on the man that watched Kira, on the quiet radio in his ear. The sound of someone sucking breath in, his ear - or was it Sonya? - and the sound like someone getting the wind knocked out of them, and then a choking sound he knew too well.

Until the sound of gunfire erupted from behind them, and the radio channel suddenly woke up. Kenshi almost flung the earbud away, the shock to his senses was great; it was enough to make him stagger against the wall while he tried to reconcile a sudden increase in what his ears were able to handle. Enemy fire - coming from the valley and the entrance, space they’d so carefully cleared. 

“Backup’s here, Kobra,” Kira called out. “Can you take care of the other one here before this gets messier?”

Overwatch was pinned down: they had already called in for reinforcements to handle the captured Black Dragon, but it hadn’t been rushed, the transports and additional soldiers yet enroute. Now, they called for a drone strike on the new position, the new threat. And Sonya - Sonya was occupied in her own match. Leaving Kenshi to make the call. And he hated it, and in that moment seethed with anger at Sonya, fighting the fight he should have had, forcing him to make a call he never should have had to make. 

“Squads in with Colonel Blade, fall back to the entrance,” he said roughly, “and take all future directives from Pierce,” that was it, Sonya’s nominal second these days, actual military. There: he’d done his job, he’d delegated, ordered them out of the way. The swordsman heard the soldiers begin to move back, and Kira’s friend - Kira’s friend began to move for Kenshi. 

“Was already planning on it. No one’s leaving here without a fight.” The man cracked his knuckles. “Looking forward to this.” 

Kenshi’s focus narrowed, drawing on Sento and the spirits within it, and closed with the other Black Dragon, letting his telepathy loose to dive into the other man’s mind and see what he planned, how he would attack. It became sword-strikes dodging fists, Kenshi using his telekinesis to slam the other man into the wall, movement and motion and sword-strikes and dodging blows, and then the sound of gunfire behind him - close behind them - a burst of sound in his ears that surprised him. Then a sudden blow to his jaw, one that made everything fall away for a moment, a ringing in his ears and a sudden moment of cold and soundlessness until it all came back as he staggered back, knocking into a pallet stacked with crates.

The burst of gunfire caught Sonya unaware as well, despite her years of service; a heartbeat off-kilter, just long enough for Kira to slam one of the knives into Sonya’s side and rip it out. A blow hard enough to drop her, but the resilient soldier sat up on the floor, aiming her gauntlets at Kira. There was no Raiden here to make everything heal up fast, but Sonya had incurred her share of wounds, and this was Black Dragon; adrenaline made sure she kept going.

“Portal, now,” Kira shouted as Sonya lifted herself up to a crouch, activating her energy gauntlets to fling a concussive blast in the direction of the Black Dragon. Some of the cave wall began to fall, a tumble of rocks as the energy hit the wall as well, rocks clattering downwards. The distraction was all the time Kobra needed to slap something, activate something. Kenshi couldn’t identify it, and Sonya wasn’t paying close enough attention.

A sickly golden-green portal opened up beside one wall, and the two Earthrealmers flung themselves through it. The portal closed a few breaths afterwards, light flaring and illuminating the cave once more. 

“Bunch of idiots,” Sonya muttered, shaking her head, hand clutched to her side. Behind her, Kenshi let out a laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You sound like Johnny.” He straightened up from where he crouched, wiping off Sento. 

“Now that’s just mean,” she said with a hiss of pain. “I thought we were,” she coughed, “friends.”

Kenshi sheathed the sword, and then his face stilled. “Sonya, how badly did she cut you?”

“Not too bad, just hurts like hell. Why?” She moved her hand away from where it had clutched reflexively at the injury on her side. He moved to her, hand pulling hers away, and swore softly, a rarity.

“That is not ‘not too bad’… You cannot feel how bad it is, can you?” Her face paled at the implication, and he seized her in his arms, placing a hand on the bloody gash, and began to apply pressure on the wound. “Get the medic, now,” he ordered into the radio, holding onto her fiercely. There was still gunfire that echoed in the cave and the passages, but it seemed quieter now - like whatever was supposed to be coming had come, had been dealt with.

“Got away,” Sonya said, sucking in a breath. “Should have let you take her.”

“Yes, you should have. Both of them did. I will not let you hear the end of it, and I intend to make sure you hear about it every day for a very long time. There are a few conversations we need to have, anyway. Stay with me, Sonya.” He slid an arm under her shoulder, supporting her weight as the severity of the injury caught up to her. His fingers were slick with her blood. “Medic,” he said again into the radio link. “For the colonel.” That might get them to move faster, he thought. Hoped.

“We got the tech, right? And the idiots?”

Kenshi peeled off the throat mike from around his neck, and then hers a moment later. “I am certain your people are making sure everything is locked down. You are going back to the base and being sewn up.” He guided her towards an outcropping of rock, easing himself down, and her with him. “I will stay here, oversee the cleanup and recovery.”

“You, do paperwork?” She coughed, and he felt the fresh flow of blood. Kenshi pressed down harder, the coppery scent of it thick in his nose, almost on his tongue, as thick as it was between their linked fingers.

“Stranger things have happened,” he said, and shifted her slightly so she rested against his chest, keeping his fingers pressed over the injury, over her hand. “I am certain your people will regale you with tales about me swearing at keyboards and giving up and filing everything with voice recordings and how much of an incompetent I am.”

“Will have to do another debrief,” she managed, words coming slower and with greater difficulty off a leaden tongue.

“With no interruptions. We have a lot to discuss.” He tried for levity. “Such as when you will be visiting your armory for armor. I think my point in wearing it is now well-proven.”

“Bastard,” Sonya coughed, earning a brief smile from him.

It was getting harder to focus, she thought; it was tiring, and she was tired, and she was cold. 

And then it was dark, and whatever else there was didn’t matter anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not enamoured of the combat scene in here, so thanks for being patient with me on it!


	4. Victory Conditions

Sonya remembered what followed in a piecemeal fashion, passing in and out of consciousness: being given trauma care on-site, her medic’s gloved fingers and antibiotics and anesthetic and Kenshi behind her, holding her down. Excruciating pain. Being carried out by someone, or something, she and brought back through a portal; a mask on her face and several faces staring down at her from above, backlit by bright lights and masked and gowned; waking up in a hospital bed. Then spent several days in the hospital under observation, getting updates from Kenshi and the others who had remained back in Afghanistan. He seemed determined to make her eat her words about paperwork, recording audio reports which were dutifully transcribed, and checking in with her daily with brief updates. Sonya found herself looking forward to the conversations more than she expected. 

“You sound horrible,” he said at one point, and she laughed. 

“At least I sound anything. Apparently I should thank you for holding me together til the medic got there after dealing with the high-priority casualties.”

“I will take their word for it. You were high priority as far as I was concerned,” he answered, his voice carefully neutral. “Though I notice you’re not actually thanking me. Any questions on the reports?”

“A few questions - and I’m debating on the thanks, the way this hurts. Where do you think they’re sending the weapons to? Theorize for me.”

“Outworld, and likely into Mileena’s armory. I haven’t gone through the portal yet to confirm.”

“Let me know before you do, and when you get back. I want to know where it’s set to. And I want their damn tech that lets them set that portal up.” Pain coursed through her and she sucked in a breath. 

“I will probably leave tomorrow, or the day after. Set aside a few hours for our briefing when I return, and I will make sure to bring you some souvenirs.” His voice was odd, and she couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but brushed it off.

“You know just the right things to say, don’t you?” 

“I have known you for years. If I did not know, by now…” Sonya could imagine the shrug on the other end. “I would be a very poor friend.” 

Cassie’s visit passed as mildly as Sonya could have wished; they fought only a little, as parents and children do. It was two weeks that passed with no word from the swordsman - Sonya hoped that no news was good news, which it usually was when he was involved - and no further leads on the Black Dragon. Cassie, meanwhile, was full of excitement, a desire to get out and do things now that she was on her summer break. They spent a few days on the Briggs farm, Jacqui and Cassie playing and pounding on each other, Jax and Vera and Sonya watching indulgently, Jax and Sonya occasionally pounding on each other as well, and Vera just shaking her head and complaining about all the children. There was a movie night with popcorn, and then Cassie went back to Venice Beach with her father, and Sonya back to her duties on the base, and all was right in the world. 

Or, at least, as right as it ever got, for a time. 

Nearly a month after the questionably successful mission, Sonya returned to her office full of loathing for dress blues. She despised them with every fiber of her being, and the sorts of formal functions that demanded wearing them. She hated the way the jacket confined her, hated the dress shirt. But most of all, she hated the skirt - God she hated the skirt. She didn’t have to wear it all the time, which she counted a small blessing, but there were occasionally days that someone needed to be reminded - or told - she was a woman. Sometimes a skirt was the easiest way to remind someone who’d lived a life thinking it was a man’s army, and couldn’t take a woman in uniform seriously. Army regulations mandated a heel between half an inch and three inches to be worn with the skirt, and when she put on her formal dress, Sonya inevitably wore three-inch heels. It meant she was equal height or taller than most of her male colleagues, and she took a perverse glee in how discomfited it made some of them. Today included two promotions to attend and a string of briefings, including one with a hidebound old General, and as much as she hated the service dress, sometimes you had to use every weapon you had. Skirts included.

Four steps into her office, she froze and pivoted, looking at her couch.

“Sonya.” 

“Takahashi.” Her mouth curved up into a bit of a smile. “Been awhile. Was starting to think something in Outworld ate you.”

“Things tried,” he said from his seat. “It went badly for them. Something… sounds different about you. Your step.”

“Service dress,” she said succinctly. “You’re in civvies.” And he was, neatly dressed and clean-shaven, looking almost like he could have been anyone off the street. Except for the red blindfold, and the sword that rested on the couch beside him. He reached out a hand, brushed fingertips down her leg, raised an eyebrow. 

“A skirt? Do you need to go back to the hospital if you’re feeling so unwell?”

“Spent enough time there, thanks,” Sonya answered tartly. “And they happen occasionally when I’m off-duty, too. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We need my debriefing, and then I also need to have a separate conversation with you.” 

She felt her stomach knot, and grunted. “We can schedule the debriefing. The other… We talking a five-minute chat or do I need to clear my afternoon?”

“I think it’s closer, perhaps, to half an hour than either other end.” 

Sonya walked to the door, shut it firmly, and turned the lock before turning back to the itinerant swordsman. He’d stayed seated; she remained standing, an arm’s length away from him. “Well, you’re not about to tell me you’re pregnant, or that you’re serving me with divorce papers. So why do I feel like you’re about to drop something on me?”

“If you want to get directly to it, Sonya, I will accommodate you.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, face turned upwards toward her. “You don’t trust anyone. I cannot work with you if you cannot trust me. I want to work with you - I want to leave here today as your friend, and remain working with you. But I have had time to think, Sonya. And I cannot - will not,” he corrected, “work with someone who does not trust me. ”

She stiffened like she’d been told to stand at attention, but her muscles tightened a half-second later, like she’d just been a moment too late to absorb a blow to the gut. “You’re wrong, Kenshi. I do trust people. And I sure as hell trust you.” She rolled her shoulders back and shifted her stance slightly; he could hear it, the same way he heard her heartbeat speed up, even though her breathing didn’t.

“You clearly do not. You did not tell me about the portal technology. And then you sprung being your second on me, set me to bringing your soldiers back if you couldn’t. You know I do not lead.” He ran a hand through his hair, then lay it back down on his leg. “You did not respect me, Sonya. Showed me no honor.”

“No honor, no trust, no respect.” Sonya shook her head and spoke, voice tight in her throat. “I trust you,” she repeated. “I know you’re an honorable man, and I respect you. That’s why I gave you the biggest thing I had. Hell, Kenshi, I gave you the thing I lost my marriage over. The only thing I have left that’s mine to give. I put them in your hands.”

“Your soldiers can look after themselves, Sonya. You threw them at me. I do not lead. I do not do anything more than work alone, or with a partner. You did not even ask me before you thrust them upon me. You planned it. You had to, because you knew I would say no. You dropped a burden on me without my consent, a burden you know I have avoided for years.” 

“I knew you’d say no. I had to do what I needed to. You never turn down a challenge, never back down. The minute I said that you were on deck if I dropped, I knew you’d do your damnedest to make sure I didn’t. And that if I did, you’d bring them back.” Her voice was clear and resolute, though she felt her fingers curl up into fists, and then she forced them flat again. Her chest felt tight, and she began to pace in the confines of the office.

“And that is why I said no respect,” he answered. “You knew my choice, my preference, and you ignored it for your own ends.”

“No respect… That’s a load of shit, Kenshi. Do you really - do you genuinely, really, think I’d allow someone to work with me this closely, that I’d put my neck out for someone who I didn’t trust and respect? That I thought couldn’t get the job done?” 

“You elected to be expedient rather than forthright.” His voice was calm, and it made her nervous. She was used to raised voices when someone was angry; Cassie was loud, and Johnny had always been loud even when he wasn’t upset, his emotions coloring everything he thought or said. The military was never quiet. Quiet - quiet and calm made her nervous, and she could feel an ache already beginning in her jaw.

“Because you do what has to be done, no matter the stakes. If I couldn’t make it out, there was no better set of hands I could put them in.” 

“You deliberately did something to me you know I dislike, and have been avoiding and rejecting every time the offer came up. Did it not cross your mind to actually use your squad leaders, or the actual platoon officers? To not force me into something you knew I did not want?”

Sonya turned, he could hear the sound of her shoes on the carpet. “I can’t do this right now. I’ve got work I have to do, and I won’t sit here and justify myself to you. I don’t have to justify myself to anyone except my superiors, and you’re not one of them. We can pick this up later, but I’m done with this right now.”

“You cannot just walk away from this, Sonya. I need a resolution. If I leave now…” Kenshi trailed off, shaking his head. “I cannot promise I will be back.”

“Then it’s clearly not so important to you, is it?” She walked to her door, unlocked it, and stood by it, not opening it yet. “I’ll be done with office-work sometime around seven tonight. We can pick this up then, if you’re interested. But I can’t do this now, Kenshi.”

He rose, sliding Sento on over his shoulders, adjusting the buckle at his waist. He walked over to her, his expression flat. “I wanted to walk out of here still friends, Sonya. I… am not sure we are.” 

“Then I won’t bother stopping by.” She wiped her hands off on her skirt. “I’ll make arrangements for you to work with someone else, if you elect to continue working with Special Forces. You can let my aide know.” She gave him a moment, waiting for a response. 

None came.

She opened the door, stood to the side. “Mister Takahashi.”

“Colonel Blade.” He nodded to her, politely, perfunctorily, and stepped into the hallway. She didn’t stay to watch him go.

Kenshi pressed a button on the side of the clock, listening to the bland voice advise him it was eight PM, and he gritted his teeth. It was done, then - she wasn’t coming. Unless she’d been expecting him to come to her - but that was unlikely at best, because even when they had just started working together, she’d made sure someone always picked him up, or met him at a place of his choosing. She never made him find his way on his own, and sometimes while it felt like being coddled, he appreciated the fact that she was willing to make accommodations for him. She did when it was important - but she’d never, not once, left him waiting.

He heard an engine shut off, a door open, and then silence. He waited for a few moments, curious, and shrugged to himself; he thought he should be more upset. But it was her decision. After a few moments of consideration, he rolled his shoulders and began to work through a series of tai chi stances, losing track of time.

And then was startled out of it by a knock on his door. 

Kenshi steeled himself - could be anyone, he’d had people knock on his door looking for someone else before - but walked over and opened it. The smell of citrus and gun oil and fresh soap, the faintest smell of salt, and that scent of her.

“Colonel Blade.”

“Mister Takahashi.” Her voice was a little hoarse, a little thick, and he wondered if she’d been at her post the entire time. 

“Come in,” he said after a moment, weighing his options. Politeness and courtesy encoded since childhood won out. 

“I don’t know if I should. I came -“ An inhalation, exhalation, and he could almost feel the tension pouring off her. 

“Come in,” he repeated, stepping out of the doorway and to one side. “Whatever you have to say, I will not make you say on the doorstep.” He heard her move, heard the regular step of her tread - she’d gone home and changed, then, for it wasn’t the click of high heels. She moved past him, shoulder grazing his, and he felt her tense again. He shut the door behind her, moved out of the way back into the entry hall, and she stood - he was fairly certain it was at attention, the way she nearly vibrated with energy.

“I came to apologize,” she managed finally, voice still low in her throat, uncomfortable and slow. Each word had to fight its way out of her mouth, and it was an audible struggle. “You… made some fair points. It’s been a long time since anyone has called me out, and I had a bad day and was caught off-guard. I… reacted badly.” 

“Take off your shoes,” Kenshi said to her, quietly, “and we can talk, if you still want to. I am willing to listen. I am upset, Sonya - angry, even - but I am not unreasonable.” 

He could hear the pounding of her heart, though she clearly wasn’t going to give him any external sign. Then, the soft sound of shoes - sneakers, since she didn’t bend down to unlace her combat boots - being removed, tucked neatly to one side. He wanted to touch her shoulder, the reassuring sort of gesture they’d shared hundreds of times over more than a decade; wanted to brush against her mind, gauge where this was going, but decided against both. 

“I haven’t had anyone with the balls to call me out in a long time,” she finally said. “And I wasn’t expecting it. And I’d had a shitty day so I was already on-edge. I didn’t handle it well.” 

“You’re… being remarkably…” Kenshi trailed off, unsure what word he was looking for. “This is not the reaction, the encounter, I was expecting based on what happened in your office.”

“Divorce included both marriage and family counseling,” she said, the first signs of annoyance rising, “and I hate therapists and being psychoanalyzed, but I’ve learned to talk the talk. Also, I got home and changed and had a shower and I’m less of a raging bitch right now.” She moved, sat on one edge of the couch, folding her knees and tucking her feet up under herself, as if to take up the smallest space possible. He sat down at the other edge of the couch, leaving a wide space between them. “I sat in the truck for half an hour before coming in. Debated on just leaving.” 

“I am grateful you didn’t,” he said, finally. So she had been there.

“Well, I pretty much picked the nuclear option for dissolving our working relationship and our friendship by kicking you out of my office. Figured I’d come by and see if there was anything left to sweep up or if it was just ashes in the wind. I don’t have many left. Friends. Probably should do a better job of keeping them.” 

“You have a formidable personality, and I would say you are an… acquired taste.” He reached out a hand and let it sit on the middle of the couch. “But you need to share some of your burdens. Find someone you trust,” and his lips twisted as he said the word, “enough to do so. You will burn yourself up if you do not. And then there really will only be ashes.” 

“Who am I supposed to share with? Jax, suffering the worst case of PTSD I’ve seen? He hides on the farm. He’s working through it, he’s trying to pull himself out. I have no right to burden him with complaints about obligations and duties he wishes he could have.” She rubbed the heel of one hand into an eye, looking at Kenshi as she collected her thoughts. “Before… He was my partner in the truest sense of the word. We damn near lived in each other’s pockets. Now, I can’t blame him for how he is. Hell, I blame myself… but it means that the one person I would have talked to, gotten advice from, is gone. And I can’t bring any of this to him. He’s so risk-averse now, even hypothetical war games are a bust. I count it a good run when we can go a few rounds at the farm… I can’t get the man to play a damn game of chess, now.” 

He filed the note about chess away; over a decade and he’d never known she played.

“And then… you know Cage,” she continued blithely. “Do you really think he was ever serious enough to know, or care, what I was doing unless it was full of excitement, would make a good movie? And like I could ever get him the clearance to tell him something he wouldn’t let slip because he was proud of me or excited about it?” Sonya shifted, and he could tell she’d put her head in her hands, the way her voice changed. “Worse, he never asked. Maybe I would have broke regs and told him, but he never asked. Meeting with world leaders to discuss Outworld threats, but he can’t say that his wife is talking with presidents and prime ministers. He also didn’t get to go along,” and her voice held the thinnest thread of amusement, “which I think made him pissy.”

Silence reigned for a few more moments before she spoke again. “As a commander for the Special Forces - handling the Black Dragon workload, and the Outworld matters - I’m it. I’m responsible for everyone, everything, they do. The buck stops with me. There isn’t anyone else, Kenshi. I don’t have it all to myself because I want to. It’s because there isn’t anybody else to share it with.” 

“You haven’t had an equal in a very long time.” Kenshi said as things slotted into place, aligning and making sudden sense with her words. “It’s been subordinates, or civilians. Or your commanding officers. No peers. No equals.”

“You’re a civilian too, don’t forget,” she said acidly, “so don’t go down that road.”

“I am hardly like the rest of them, Sonya.” He gave her an affronted look, turning his hand palm-up between them. “But you haven’t had a partner. Even I have been in and out, unpredictable. You really have been” He frowned slightly and considered the implications. 

“No, I haven’t. I knew it, I think, when I decided to go career, that I wouldn’t have one. Just never wanted to admit it to myself. It’s lonely at the top, Kenshi. And everyone gets pissed off at you. Husband, kid,” she barked a half-laugh and looked at him, “friends. I got myself up here, and turns out there’s only room enough for one.”

“It is eminently reasonable to be upset. I did not realize, until you said it, how isolated you felt you were. But that is something you have also been reinforcing yourself, choosing to do so. It would not be so difficult to make sure you had subordinates to take this off your hands. You have them, and you choose not to use them. Waste of resources, Colonel.” He paused, considering his next words carefully.

“We have been friends for a long time, and I am… more than a bit angry you have not aired any of this with me before, friend to friend. You have been my friend, and I would like to share this with you - as much as you can. I will stay here longer if I must, get more clearances and authorizations, as long as you send me out on missions that I can do, and save yourself for the things I cannot. But I cannot, and will not, work with you if you’re going to be less than honest.” He turned on the couch, facing her.

“I am good. I am very good, at very many things. My skills are unsurpassed in most. But I do not lead squads, I do not command soldiers. I cannot review photographs of mission data, cannot evaluate maps and terrain on a computer screen. That is a job for you. So start to share, Sonya. Do the work only you can do, and let me do the work I am suited for.” 

She exhaled sharply. “For the love of everything, Kenshi - even when you’re trying to be sweet - or, at least, I think you are - you’re still an absolute dick.” She leaned back against the couch, and then leaned across to him and punched him, not very gently, in the shoulder. He rocked back with it, and caught her hand in his as she pulled it back, squeezing it once, letting it go.

“I am your equal in some ways, your better in others, your inferior in others.” He shrugged, matter-of-fact, and she snorted in disbelief. “We complement each other. I am quite literally the only person who can read your mind to know exactly what it is you want, or need.”

“And what if what I need is someone who listens, and someone who knows when to make a tactical retreat? Someone who will reverse course? Sometimes what you need to do, the choice that saves the war, is the one that means losing that engagement. Sometimes you have to cede the ground, decline the challenge, let the other person get what they want and not get what you’re after. Sometimes you have to give something up because it’s the right thing, the better thing.” She leaned forward, holding her head in her hands again. “You yield.” 

“Yielding,” Kenshi pointed out in irritation, “is giving in. Retreating. Being beaten.” A hint of rancor slid into his voice. “When you are a man like I am, Sonya, you cannot give an inch. With my sight, I was unbeatable. I spent years earning a reputation, and then my pride led me to lose my sight. I gained Sento, and other things besides, but I was weak and it set me back years. Now that I have gotten back to my skills - now that I’m as good, or better, as I was before, I cannot seem even a little bit weak. Yielding is submitting, backing down. Losing. I have seen the cost of pride, and it means I will never see again. I would save you that.”

“Been listening to a thesaurus lately?” She quirked a brow, and the comment caught him by surprise, garnering a brief laugh. “It’s also sometimes used to mean to go along with someone else, instead of your own way. If you’re going to have me trust you, Kenshi, you need to do me the same courtesy and trust that what I want - what I need - sometimes may mean a tactical retreat. Or just letting me have my own damn way.” 

“Let the Colonel have her way?” His lips twitched. “I can take orders. You know that.”

“But can you yield? If I told you to back down, if I told you to stop, to let go - would you?”

“I would hate it,” Kenshi told her, “and I would be angry with you, and I would demand reasons - afterwards - but I would do it.”

She seemed to consider, then, evaluating her options. “I can’t promise this will be easy,” she said finally, “but I’ll give it a try.” He felt her hand take his after what had to be hours. “God, I’m going to hate it, but I need you around if only to call me on things. And so I know there’s one person who will get things done.”

“It won’t be easy for either of us. The idea of surrendering, a ploy or not… I hate even considering it. If you have the power to take out your enemy, you should.” He heard her stifled sound of disbelief. “I will trust your tactics, though I may hate them. But please… do not ask me to do things I cannot. There is very little I cannot do, will not do, but do not make me lead. Let my successes rest on me alone- ”

“Like I said - I gave you the last thing I have to give, Kenshi, and you brought them back to me. That’s all I could ever ask for. I can’t promise it’ll be easy to pry things out of me, but - I’ll try. Just for the love of everything good and decent, ask me if you need to know something. I’m not the telepath here, remember?” 

“For which the entire world is grateful,” he said, getting a laugh out of her. “Now. I accept your apologies, Sonya. You hide very much behind your rank and uniform, and sometimes it is hard to know what is truly bothering you. And I too am sorry - I should have asked you things earlier.”

“Chronic failing of the men I take to bed,” she opined. “And you are the literal mind-reader.” She let go of his hand, standing up. “Alright. Well, I’ll get out of your hair, and let you decide what it is you want to do. I need to go home, and - well.”

“I already know what I would like to do,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “We are still friends, and you have agreed to try to withhold less, and trust me more - and I have agreed to try to trust you. If memory serves… you said something about owing me a few rounds.” 

“That was before I felt like I got run over by every truck in a convoy. And if I have a few rounds I won’t be driving myself home, and you’re sure as hell not driving me home, so I need to make it an IOU. At least one of us has still got duty tomorrow.” She eyed him, poked a finger at his shoulder.

“So your house for drinks, then?”

“Not tonight.” She shook her head, wryly. “Just as complicated, in its own way. I was planning on seeing how this panned out. I’d pretty much planned on apologizing, then going off-base and trying my luck at a bar. But I’m not feeling that so much right now.”

“Sonya, in the interests of honesty and full disclosure… ” Kenshi leaned forward and took both of her hands, and opened his eyes, looking up at her. His eyes were lit by blue spirit energy. “You are my friend, but I would also very much like to take you to bed again. What happened in your office before Afghanistan was… something I wanted to do. And that hasn’t changed.”

“Even after all… this…” she gestured, trying to take in her, him, the room, the base, “you’re not going to run for the hills?”

“Hardly.” He pulled her slowly forward, slid his hands partway into the front pockets of her jeans, and tugged her closer towards him. He felt her weight shift, her hands settle on the back of the couch on either side of his head, a reversal of what had happened in her office before things went awry. “You may have duty tomorrow, but surely you can manage a few hours? There would be a bed involved, after all.”

“You’re optimistic,” she said in a voice very close to his ear, mouth almost touching as she leaned towards him. 

“That bad a schedule?”

“That we’ll make it to your bed.”


End file.
